


Whistling

by SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight



Series: They Go Together. [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Slightly OOC Geralt, Voiceless Jaskier, minor character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight/pseuds/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight
Summary: Basically, just had an idea and wrote it. Not my best piece for sure.Jaskier gets laryngitis and breaks and arm. The result is Geralt Whistling.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: They Go Together. [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624777
Comments: 18
Kudos: 213
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Whistling

GERALT

There were no contracts, celebrations, or balls to determine their path. In short there was nowhere that they were currently needed. Thus, they traversed the countryside the way a witcher and a bard should. In brooding, focused silence and upbeat rambunctious singing. They don’t dally but there is little determination in their strides. It’s just another day on another road, until Jaskier clears his throat aggressively for the third time in ten minutes. Geralt hmms low and rumbly, slowing Roach. Wordlessly he hands Jaskier the last full water skin.  
“Thanks.” Jaskier manages harshley, tone to low.  
“Sick?” Geralt is still looking straight ahead, the late afternoon sun on their backs. Jaskier doesn’t smell of sickness, a little different, but not of infection or fever.  
“Not sure,” Jaskier rasps after swallowing some water. “My throat hurts.” 

JASKIER 

He stops talking after that. Instead he rides a top Pegasus and plays his lute. It’s an art that took him all of two days to perfect. The bard had been very happy to have a horse, slow as it was in the witchers opinion. Aside from the geldings occasional annoyance of Roach they were traveling together well. The music Jaskier plays is melancholy and longing perhaps for his currently useless voice. He strikes a discordant note, changes his mind and plays it augmented instead. ‘That’s better’ he thinks to himself and follows, plodding beside the witcher. Beside him Geralt sits a little straighter and in response Jaskier pulls his fingers tight against the lute. It effectively cuts off the sound, but the last notes are still fading into the air around them. They’ve traveled long enough together that Jaskier knows just by Geralts facial expressions when he can get away with pretending he isn't observant and when he needs to shut up and follow his wolfs lead. Rigid muscles, alert eyes, searching glances all indicated the latter option.

He keeps his breathing even and steady. He isn’t afraid. He rarely is when Geralt is next to him. He stops Pegasus beside Roach, he doesn’t say a word just trusts. Geralt shakes his head and purses his lips.  
“Mmm stay close.” He does. He watches intently as the witcher studies their surroundings. He wonders what has him wound so tightly. He straps his lute to the side of Pegasus and fight the urge to make noise as was his custom. Geralt nodded at him and he knew he had made the better decision. 

GERALT

He is grateful that Jaskier has always been able to translate his wordlessness. Time has only depend and broadend that particulair skill. He can’t help but nod his thanks and encouragement when Jaskier puts the lute away. He is rewarded with a soft smile and tender eyes from the bard. He doesn’t know yet what it is that has him riled. There’s just something wrong. When he glances to check on Jaskier a little while later there is worry in his eyes. They should stop for the night, refill the water skins and get some rest. He pushes them forward instead. Foreboding hangs heavy in the air. He’s aware of Jaskier tapping a rhythm against his saddle horn. He had tried to hum, to whistle a soft tune and failed earlier. The hoarseness in his throat seems to be permanent for the time being, and even his breathing sounds wrong in the witchers ears. 

He almost finds himself missing Jaskiers constant questioning. Still the bard doesn’t even try to ask why they haven’t stopped when the sun begins sloping lower, casting long shadows on the road. He looks at the musician.  
“Can you ride through the night?” He watches Jaskier worry his lower lip (ignores the curl of want in his stomach), fingers still drumming on the saddle horn, then a nod. The bard reaches for his rations and Geralt does the same. If they aren’t stopping, best eat while the sun is up. He’s concerned for Jaskiers ability to swallow though and is proven correct when the bard winces. He is surprised at Jaskeir because even a year ago there would have been questioning — Pegasus rears beside him, Roach stepping to the side, he tucks his knees tight. He knows she likely won't rear, she’s better trained than that. Pegasus however… He whips his head around quickly. He smells it: a wraith. Pegasus is riderless and Jaskier groans in pain.  
“Stay down.”  
He dismounts quickly, searching for the wraiths location. He ties the geldings reigns to Roach, unwilling to chase the horse down if he runs off. He draws his sword and glances at Jaskier, arm broken and cradled against his chest. His good arm covering it. His eyes are moist with unshed tears and his breathing is labored and laced with pain. Jaskier nods at him, gently disobeys and puts his back to a nearby tree sliding down to it’s base. 

He reaches into his pouch and withdraws the last of his specter oil, quickly he baths his sword in it. Numbly he registered the throbbing of Jaskiers arm separated from his heart beat. It was a sound he decidedly did not like. He heard the stream in the distance, and the smell of death in the air. 

The wraith came in behind him, he spun quickly and jumped back. The wraith tried for another attack and he swung his sword effectively cutting the specters arm off. It hissed and screeched. The witcher did not relent. With two more effective moves forward and a clean slice through its chest, it disintegrated into dust and fell to the earth. He turned towards his bard. And sighed.  
“Go.” Jaskeir says jutting his chin to the side and wincing. Geralt nods, pulling a blanket off the horses and draping it over the musician.  
“I’ll be quick.”  
He had every intention of it. This wraith had been slow, and relatively powerless. He found the corpse quickly. It was still in its early stages of decomposition. It was bloated, nearly ready to explode. It’s extremities and face animal bitten. Geralts years of practice alone kept him from retching.  
When he returned to Jaskiers side the bard was nearly asleep against the tree. 

JASKIER

He couldn’t help but smile when he saw Geralt make his way back.  
“G-geralt.” He wheezed. “We should,” a cough “stop.” He sighs frustrated through his nose. He was sure all that was coming out of his mouth was obnoxious breathy sounds.  
“Mmm” The witcher knelt in front of him and took the injured arm as gently as he could. Jaskier hissed as callused fingers explored the skin and the bone beneath.  
“This will hurt.” Jaskiers eyes widened and he pulled his arm back with a yelp.  
Geralt reached for it again.  
“Jask, it needs set.” The bard glared at him like it would make a difference.  
“The sooner we set it the less it will hurt and better it will heal. You’ve never broken a bone before have you.” It wasn’t a question but Jaskier still nodded his head. Geralt growled.  
“This is.”  
“NO.” It was more air than not, but he was not going to have this discussion again, let alone right now when he couldn't speak. He stayed by choice, Geralt would not send him away again. He stared into molten stars. He smiled smugly when Geralt looked away first. He looked back and growled low against his ear.  
“ Fine. But let me do this now.” Jaskier nodded, then swallows when Geralt holds a stick out for him.  
“Bit onto that.” There’s a question on his face.  
“You could bite your tongue off. We’ll both be devastated if you do that… though for very different reasons.” He continues with a smirk and Jaskier opens his mouth to call him something rude. A scream comes out instead. 

When he woke, a fire crackled nearby, but no one was with him in the clearing. He pushed himself up and winced. He was resting against a saddle. He groaned, which caused him to choke. His throat hurt fiercely. The smell of boiled herbs is strong in the air. He wants to call out for Geralt and can’t. He looks at his damaged arm. It’s in a sling and has been splinted. 

GERALT

When he comes back to camp with the filled water skins and some more fire wood its to see Jaskier sitting up and looking around frantically. He puts the firewood down next to the fire, and then he puts the waterskins next to them for the moment. He doesn’t look back at the bard. He picks up a mug and fills it with the water from the pan. It’s not boiling any longer but it’s still hot. He then hands it to Jaskeir.  
“Drink.” The bard looks up at him curious. He just hums and tends his weapons. The quiet however, is getting to him. He never thought a time would come when he openly admitted that he enjoyed Jaskiers music on nights like this. Eventually he puts his blades away and looks at Jaskier who is just about asleep agaisn’t Pegasus’s saddle.  
“Goodnight Jaskier.”  
He gets a smile. 

The next morning, they’re riding in silence and Jaskier whimpers occasionally as his arm jostles. They need to find a healer sooner than not. For now he clenches his jaw and continues on in what should be blessed silence. It’s not, he discovers that he can’t stand not being the cause of Jaskeirs whimpers, and that he misses the inscent talking. What bothers him most is that he is bothered by Jaskeirs discomfort. He shouldn’t be. The bard chose this life. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s doing it until Jaskier is smiling too big beside him.  
He opens his eyes to say what and it hits him that he’s been whistling. It’s not the whistle that he gives for Roach, it’s a tune, specifically the lullaby Jaskier had taught him.  
He doesn't know how long he’s been doing it.  
He groans, and Jaskier just smiles wider. 

They found a healer that night.


End file.
